


Real Gravity

by loose_canon



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Allison Writes To Her Mom One Last Time After Escaping a Generation Ship With Renee, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Epistolary, F/F, Gay in Space, Minor Character Death Mention - Canon, bittersweet but mostly sweet, homophobia mention, religious angst, renison, u know - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loose_canon/pseuds/loose_canon
Summary: RECORDED 04:08, PILGRIMAGE YEAR 1584 DAY 29[begin message]Hey, Mom. You’re probably watching this and thinking about how much you want to kick my ass right now. Well, my butt, because you don’t say words like “ass,” much less think them. Anyway, I know you’re mad at me. I’m the ungrateful daughter who hijacked an emergency pod and zipped off into space in the middle of the eclipse service like a dumbass—sorry, dumbbutt—with another girl because I just had to go and open myself to the spirit of lesbianism. I’m not gonna lie, I’m mad just like you are. Part of me wants to just say that the spirit is a good fucking time and be on my way. But I need you need to know that I’m losing something, too.A sci-fi one shot: Allison leaves a final message for her mother after she and Renee escape the generation ship they grew up on.





	Real Gravity

RECORDED 04:08, PILGRIMAGE YEAR 1584 DAY 29

_[begin message]_

Hey, Mom. You’re probably watching this and thinking about how much you want to kick my ass right now. Well, my butt, because you don’t say words like “ass,” much less think them. Anyway, I know you’re mad at me. I’m the ungrateful daughter who hijacked an emergency pod and zipped off into space in the middle of the eclipse service like a dumbass—sorry, dumbbutt—with another girl because I just had to go and open myself to the spirit of lesbianism. I’m not gonna lie, I’m mad just like you are. Part of me wants to just say that the spirit is a good fucking time and be on my way. But I need you need to know that I’m losing something, too. As soon as I told Renee “yes, I want to hold your hand”—way before I told her “yes, I love you,” or “yes, I’ll go with you”—I knew my “yes” to her was a “no” to you, Mom. I guess that’s why it took me so long to finally leave. I thought that maybe if I talked to you about how Renee and I aren’t a threat to the species or an affront to the Starfather or whatever, you would come around. Our codes can be combined just the same as a man and a woman’s can. Have been for centuries now. But the only thing that came around was the flat of your hand. You’re really strong, you know? Look, you can still see the barest imprint of Oma’s old ring right below my ear. Renee placed her lips there so softly when I showed her. She still does sometimes when I won’t quiet.

Have you ever wondered who decided what it means to be “fruitful and multiply”? Why we haven’t docked on a planet in over three hundred years? You’re smart, Mom. You know I get it from you; I can tell you strain under your devotion. Think about all those people down there on all the planets we orbit and pelt with our little booklets and cheesy holograms about humankind’s destiny. People, I said, not possible converts. I don’t care what the Starfather said. The pull of earth isn’t evil. And neither is stillness. I’m tired of worshipping motion. I’m tired of waving goodbye to every planet we loop past on our way to the galaxy’s outer limits. Tired of looking at the boys in my age bracket and knowing in exact sequence whose genetic code is most compatible with mine, most likely to combine “correctly” in the chamber.  I loved a boy once, but this one-way pilgrimage of a life emptied him out, too. The Council was devastated when he died; he and I were such a good match, two of the best-coded young people on the Vessel! And we wanted to be together, though you were already suspicious it might be a phase. No one can say you’re inconsistent. I remember the look on your face at his funeral service. You were crying but your mouth was angry. I could smell your perfume from Dad’s other side, one clear note. You only wear it on special occasions. It made me sad for you, but I couldn’t figure out why. I guess I know now.

I still think about the time you slow-danced with me after my Coding Ceremony. You held me in your arms although I was already too big for that, and I clasped my hands behind your neck as you swayed us back and forth. You hummed songs you wouldn’t tell me the name of. I still hear them sometimes in my dream, though they’re gone the moment I wake up. I can still smell your perfume, though.    

And then I learned the word “no,” another sin. You never taught it to me, even though I know you keep it hidden behind your teeth like a safety net. No, I said, I wouldn’t come and take a look at the database or talk to whoever was pinging our line. I know the Council was cooking something up for me, some legislation about grief and honoring the dead by propagating the living into the future. Nanny told me, little chicken. Fuck the Council, though. I bet Seth’s happy right now, this very nanosecond, wherever he is when he happens to slide through it. I bet he’s smiling, even, sober and bright and gorgeous. Bet the Starfather didn’t punish him at all.

Renee still believes in the Starfather, did I tell you that? She has a necklace, the little symbol resting below her throat’s hollow. I kiss her there sometimes, when she’s gone too still. She doesn’t think the Starfather’s going to damn us for leaving the Vessel. She says it’s just a ship, says we got confused, that it wasn’t about going to the ends of the earth with pamphlets and the few drops of water left from the First Earth to sprinkle on new crewmembers. Renee tells me he’s looking for a different kind of movement. Renewal, she says, everyday resurrection. I tune out after that part. Yes, she notices. She knows me, though, so she doesn’t get mad.

Tell Dad not to cry. He’s not losing me. He never had me. I loved Renee this whole time. Tell him the Starfather tucked it in my heart when I was building up in the heat chamber, strung it in all the little folds of my skin. I would have stayed if I thought there was any way to keep you, but I know your allegiance is to the Big Man Out There comes first. The Council would have kicked me out anyway, me and Renee both, the moment they saw us touching each other. Even the smallest movement, a hand on the arm, would enough. I’m convinced you can see what we are when we’re just standing close. I used to wonder why you and Dad didn’t say anything. But you’re not in denial. You’re in belief. And you don’t believe in people like me, so how could I exist?

I want to say good luck finding the edge of the cosmos, making progress and pleasing the Starfather with your onward march toward Truth— _the truth of our being and the truth of His_. It’s weird to think I’ll never mutter that beside you again, lying to the space between my hands. But I can’t. A straight line is a straight line, little loops of proselytization be damned. You’re only going to see in that direction for the rest of your life. Does the Vessel even have a window on its back side? I don’t think it does.

Maybe I’ll message you again. Tell you what real gravity feels like, if it’s any different. I imagine the feeling of fresh dirt all the time. All the history books say it has a certain scent, especially after rain, that you can tell where you are depending on how it smells, what kind of dirt you’re on. Maybe you and Dad will get in a little pod, too, point it at the nearest lump of friendlies when you veer off course to turn your loops and drop your trash and beam up the holo-converts. Maybe the ship’s pirouette will slow and you’ll all hang suspended, breathe in and look out the windows and see a way that isn’t _forward_. Maybe you’ll let yourself imagine what it’s like to be pulled toward the center of something, just enough to keep you on the surface, and you’ll miss me enough to come find me. Or to want to talk to your apostate daughter again, Framework be damned. Maybe the Starfather will come to you in a dream and whisper that it’s all right. Or maybe he’ll come to you in a woman like he did for me. Brutal strength in her hands, secret tattoos on her shoulder blades, a wish to stay, to stop, to be, in her chest. Or maybe you’ll just rapture up a dog or nuke another kid in the chamber to replace me. Tell them about me, would you? How there are other directions to go? How there are more people to love if you aren’t trying to make progeny that can’t get sick or even too anxious. I’ll never calculate for traits again. Damn genomes to hell. Or to the outer darkness. Or wherever.

Renee and I will probably never combine our codes, even if whatever planet we’re hurtling toward is emptied out. I kind of hope it is. It’s mostly me. I don’t want to be you, you know? Don’t want to bring something into the world just to break it. But see, I already am you. Afraid of the way bonds can be severed, of new things, of being hurt. Right now Renee and I are just happy to be moving away. We talk about the real gravity at the other end of our arc through the cold. Space is different with her. It holds us while we float, tenderly, I think. It’s how I know we’ll be okay. Okay, done with the woowoo shit, I promise. That’s the last of it you’ll ever have to hear from me.

I’m sorry. I meant to send this to remind you that even though I’m leaving, and I’m angry, and I’m ecstatic, and I’m scared, now I’ll have to mourn you, too. You and Dad, both. I’ll know you’re still out there, making the straight and narrow. But I’m selfish. I want you to love me back like I am. And to love Renee. And I want you to look around and decide to leave yours. Unfurl the net behind your teeth and figure out how to be better with us because you’re my parents, damn it. I guess in some twisted way it’s comforting to know that you feel the exact same way about me. I hope you don’t take this message badly. I only leave it because I’m not good at giving up what I want. I do love you both, endlessly. Oh, and Mom—I stole your perfume right after you and Dad went to the eclipse service. It’s so lovely and clear and simple. It reminds me. You can’t have it back.

_[end message]_

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> find me on tumblr @sapphicrenee <3


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